Baby Love, My Baby Love
by BoondockAngel
Summary: Little SPN one shots about the real meaning of apple-pie family and why we are still watching the show after 10 seasons. Baby's POV, cuz goodness knows, I do love that car. Nothing like my BDS fic except maybe in the heart. If you really squint, you might see some... you know. But not really.
1. Chapter 1 Family

Hi. My name is Baby. If I've done my rudimentary math right, I'm almost 50 years old; a bit of a cougar for my current love, but let's not discriminate here. I'm not much of a Dodge fan. Sorry, Chevy humor. What I mean by this is I've been around for a while and though I may seem old, deep in the crank shaft, where it counts, I know I'm a classic. And because I have class, I try to take real good care of those who take care of me. Let me give you a little back story, just so we're all on the same piece of asphalt.

I have a lighter-haired love who calls me Baby; after I was terribly hurt back in 2006, he rebuilt me from the chassis up. I owe him everything. When he calls me Baby in his gruff, deep voice, I know I'm the one for him. And it's the best name in the world, Baby, truly music to my speakers; like Metallica or Motorhead, but better. Anyone who calls you Baby… well, that guy? That's the guy for me. Through all the years of listening, I came to understand his name is Dean. In my carburetor, where it counts, I simply call him my one true partner.

Sometimes I'm known as "The Impala." There is a younger, tall, dark boy who calls me that; usually with fondness, but sometimes with jealousy. His name is Sam and I've learned to distinguish between the two. The Dean one likes hard rockin' classic music and rollin' down the highway at speeds that sometimes scare me. But he is always affectionate and I try to reciprocate by keeping my wheels firmly gripped to the road. The Sam one likes newer, softer rock and pop mixes and is usually filled with angst when he is alone with me. I wonder if it's me? Because the younger one went so far as to modify me with a foreign electronic device and added insult to injury by putting a dog in my back seat. Thank Durant, Little, and Campbell, my beloved Dean came back from wherever he was and fixed everything. He's left me twice now, not counting when he garaged me for fear of something called evil doppelgängers and the time he quit hunting when Sam was inexplicitly gone. I do not like it when Dean is gone; I miss him. And I think Sam does too, but sometimes it's hard to tell. I do not approve of foreign electronics. Buy American, I say. And I especially do not believe in dogs in the back seat. Don't tell Dean, but I believe in dogs in the front seat.

I've heard an older guy, a real expert, refer to me as "The Impala" as well, but I haven't felt him for a while. He bought me in 1973 after a guy named Sal put me up for adoption in a place called Lawrence. The older expert took good care of me for many years. I cannot tell you how grateful I am he didn't buy that piece of crap VW parked next to me in the Rainbow lot. What a snooty, stuck-up, little four-banger, cream-over-gold, German-engineered brat he was, but I digress. For some reason, I have the distinct impression of Dean's voice in 1973 talking to the older guy, but that can't be possible. Like I said, I may be a bit of a cougar, but I can do math. The older guy, the expert, he even let me help raise his boys into handsome, competent young men. Because of this and because of the boys, I mostly call the expert Dad. Dad loved me so much he even went so far as to give me to Dean when the eldest turned 18. No one ever called me Baby before Dean though. Dean is tall. Not as tall as the younger, dark-haired boy who he refers to as his brother, but still tall. His hands are calloused but his fingers are nimble. I'll never forget the time he put legos down my heater vents. It annoyed me for a long time, that rattle; now I'm just sentimental about it. It reminds me of how long my love has been with me. Even with his scarred and battered working-man hands, when he touches me, he is careful not to scratch my paint or ding my doors. He always shows a deep and abiding respect for me, keeping me tuned as comensurate with my classic, hot-rod status. I can ask for no greater thing than to have the boy who calls me Baby in the driver's seat with his hands on my steering wheel and his beautiful body pressing down on my cushions.

And so, that brings me to my point. I take care of Dean. Well, both boys for that matter, just like family should. I provide entertainment when it's that rare time to play. Sometimes I'm a storage unit and my favorite companion is my Coleman chest filled with ice and beer. I know how to recon an objective, tail a monster, and, even more important, how to get the hell out of Dodge when it's time to evacuate. I'm a weapons locker so my family can defend themselves and others. I am tireless in my devotions: saving people, hunting things. Because I love Dean, I love his Sam. And because of that, I play my supporting role as best I can in this thing Dean calls the family business. I let them sleep under my canopy. I do not run rough and always strive for the smooth center of the road. I am both transportation and safety, and I like to keep my motor runnin' in case of emergency. I am a port in a storm and shade for a tired brow. I carry the load when it's too heavy for my Dean to shoulder and give a fender to lean on whenever it's needed. In cases like this, I sometimes wonder if it is rain or tears that fall on my shiny black hood. Nevertheless, I always listen to their problems because the greatest gift I can give them is something ephemeral: my time. I am home for Dean and Sam. And every now and then, on rare occasions, I'm a jail. But don't tell any demons that, okay?

I'm not sure what "Impala" means to you, but I can tell you what it means to me: it means my boys aren't with me. What I want to hear is my boy crooning Baby to me. That may seem like a simple term of endearment, but it's also a contract, a family, and it means the purest of love. Baby? Oh, yes. That's my boy. Whisper it to me again, please.

And when he calls me that, I'll do anything to give Dean and his beloved brother something we all find too little in life: I am their haven.


	2. Chapter 2 The Road Rising Up

**One Shot #2 Season 10 **

**Needed a little brain exercise; can't do any one thing for too long or the writing goes stale. In the middle of a smokin' hot and heavy Murph &amp; Connor scene in A Saint, A Sinner and had to walk away for a while. So here goes… saw the trailer for the S10 midseason finale. Whoa!**

Hi. In case you don't know me, my name is Baby. I'm a 1967 Chevy Impala. And if I am to believe the people around me, I'm a classic. I felt like telling a little more of my story tonight. So, if you like this sort of thing, sit back, relax, and enjoy my smooth ride.

Today Dean fixed my front driver's side blinker, replacing my light that burned out. I'm glad he's keeping himself busy. I'm even happier he remembered since he's been distracted recently. I worry about being pulled over by those cars with the fancy flashing blue and red lights and having a light bulb burned out is a sure fire way of attracting attention. Or at least attention beyond my gorgeous body, sexy wheels, and shiny paint. But I digress. Forgive me, it's a Chevy thing. I know, I know. I sound jealous of the fancy lights and it's because I miss my spots.

I always sense a darkness enveloping the boys when those cars are behind me and Dean pulls me to the side of the road. I don't know why this is. For the first half of my life, those cars meant help and protection. I wonder why the cars with flashing lights always cause my boys to worry now. I heard Dean say Leviathan once. This might be the reason, because when he said that word, it sounded like a bad word, a curse word, or even worse. I know it can't be because my boy has done anything wrong. The brothers always do the right thing; or at least they try. Sometimes they can only do the best they can in impossible circumstances. Dad taught them right; how to make the moral decision, how to make the tough call. Family always comes first though, no matter what. And as that older, crotchety curmudgeon with the ball cap used to say, family don't end with blood. I'm part of this family. And as family, I can feel a niggling rattle in my crank shaft. I think, for you, it would be a thing called worry.

I can feel it when he touches me, that darkness. Dean has a weight on him. I don't know exactly what it is, but it's more than the normal heaviness that burdens him. I don't think it really has anything to do with the Sam one. They are more in accord right now than they have been in years. Maybe they are growing up? Or it could just be me. Dean seemed light for a while, but even when he was liberated, I knew something was wrong. The Sam one wasn't with him. And he threw trash in my back seat! Trash! That never happened before. Being family though, still needing to take care of him, I put up with it. I felt dirty and happy at the same time. Is that possible?

There's something in Dean and I don't know how to help him other than stay reliable. He's my tough guy. Don't tell him, but I know he lies a lot. To other people, but also to himself. He talks to me sometimes. I don't know the whole story, but I know he lies as a protective mechanism. And I do know about mechanics. I mean, come on, I'm an Impala, for Castiel's sake. He worries. He frets. He doesn't want to burden others. He's been places and seen things that even I don't know about. I do know most of it happened when he was away from me. I think he went or was sent somewhere unspeakably evil.

Speaking of evil and good. I've had a lot of experience with demons. And even more with angels. I heard the boys say God has left the building, just like Elvis. Don't ask me who Elvis is, it would take too long to explain about radio stations and my early life with Sal. Back to God though; I really hope he hasn't abandoned my boy, but I fear it is true. Doesn't change my hopes though. I'll tell you something I learned. One time, that Sam one had a thing called NPR on my radio, back when that foreign electronic device was in me. I heard something kinda neat and it always resonated in my door panels.

May the road rise up to meet you  
May the wind be always at your back  
May the sun shine warm upon your face;  
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,  
may God hold you in the palm of His hand

This is what I hope for my Dean and his brother. I wish for it with all my carburetor parts. Until then, I'll take care of him. Promise. Cuz that's just what family does. The expert taught me that.


	3. Chapter 3 How Much Does a Secret Weigh?

**One shot SPN S2E9-10**

Hi guys. My name is Baby. I am a caretaker. A keeper of boys, well, men really, but you know what I mean. I'm steward, if you will. I stand sentinel. A long time ago, when the Sam one was a very young boy, I remember Dean helping him with a thing called vocabulary. He said a sentinel is a soldier or guard whose job it is to stand and keep watch. That stuck with me over the years because I was listening with every fiber of my speakers when it happened. Dad had left me in charge while he hunted a thing called a Djinn in a warehouse in some Midwestern town. The boys were being rambunctious and, in exasperation, I shorted out my radio to focus their attention on their school lessons. But, I really started paying attention because there was something in Dean's voice when he gave Sam the definition, something more than his normal frustration at sixth grade spelling and all things having to do with school. Even then, Dean was an adherent of the school of hard knocks rather than of book learning. But I remember 'sentinel' meant something more to Dean. I think he identified with the word. Don't ask me what identified means. I'm not sure myself as it never came up in middle school vocab. I just know I heard his voice choke with emotion.

Anyhow, I do the best I can to protect, to watch, to be there for my love and his brother. I listen. I've spent years listening to the degree of anxiety, fear, anger, or happiness in Dean's voice, the shades of meaning in his touch, the nuances to his scent. And I know something happened to my Dean yesterday. We were in some little town in Oregon. On the way there, the boys had an infamous "Fine!" argument, sounding more like teenage girls than the men they look like. When we left, I could feel the world my love carried on his shoulders, the heaviness in his heart. I could feel it in the tremor in his hands as they rested on my steering wheel, in the short choppy movement of his right arm when he put me in gear. When he shifts me, it usually makes my mufflers rumble. Yesterday evening, he worried me.

If I'm being honest—just an expression as Impalas can't lie—for that matter, Chevys can't lie. Fords do it all the time, the dirty dealers. And those Toyotas? Don't get me started on their foibles. But I digress, mostly because the whole subject makes me uneasy. Anyhow, deep in my carburetor, I think Dean tried to quit. Something bad happened in River Grove because when I say quit, I mean I think he tried to give up. I don't think he was coming back for me. A Marine fella had my keys and touched my ignition. As soon as my battery powered up, I wanted to scream for Dean, "_You're only 27 years old! You _have_ to keep going and you can't leave me!_" but the volume on my radio was turned down. And we all know there is only one thing that would make my boy give up. Did I mention I don't like it when other people take my wheel? It feels…not right and I simply refused to start, refused to leave my boys; I'm good like that. I swear its part of coming of age. I mean, I'm almost half a century now and have the prerogative of the occasional false start, right? Your average GI Joe wouldn't know what's under my hood or how good Dean takes care of me.

When Dean finally came back, there was something eating at him underneath all the bravado and hubris he wears like armor. This has been going on for some time and whatever happened yesterday made him face his reality, the reality he works so hard to deny. It was so bad, he forgot about the .45 pearl handle at the small of his back. His gun pressed into my cushions causing a deep vibration in my under carriage; don't get me wrong. I like that sensation, but not the cause. That's a price too high to pay. Pleasure at the price of his emotional agony? No thanks.

It isn't just the daily situation that's bothering him either. I mean, any given day in the boys' lives is considered a bad day by any definition of normal reality. It only becomes a good day if they survive it. Dean's reality is pretty grim too. There isn't much hope or lightness or joy in his life. He's got the one thing and that's being a sentinel. He holds onto that mission tight and he's like a bulldog; he won't let go. He'll pay any price, commit any act, sacrifice every bit of himself, and burn it all down to bedrock to protect his brother. And whatever his secret is, it's clouding his formidable intellect; neither he nor Sam saw the Croatoan virus for the demon test it was. Instead, Dean spoke of going to the Grand Canyon, about taking a break. We all know that's not going to happen, though I've heard amazing things about the 'big ditch.' I'd like to see it myself. But that's not in the cards because I know my boy too well. Dean soldiers on. He 'keeps up the skeer' on the monsters of this world. He keeps the faith in the family business: saving people, hunting things. As long as the Sam one is with him.

Today, he finally had to tell Sam the truth, the secret he's been holding. My boy is faced with the impossible. He was ordered by the one I call Dad to kill his brother if he can't save him from the demon blood running in Sam's veins. Whatever that means, it's ominous and I know my boy believes it like he believes in things that go bump in the night. That's what he finally admitted and it explains why I've been feeling the extra weight on my love's soul. But the Sam one abandoned my boy, not realizing the commitment to family, the motivating force inside Dean; it's the root of his psyche and transcends the meaning of love. Sam was so angry and self-absorbed he left his brother bereft. Dean had only a moment of reprieve from the weight he carried, before his world came crashing down again. My boy doesn't give up though, not if there's a chance. It's clear to me that there is no Dean without Sam. He'll follow him anywhere. Even unto death.

Dean will face the impossible, because there is no quit in him as long as his Sam draws breath. Wearing the mantle of a sentinel is no easy task. But we wear it nonetheless, Dean and me. Dean's got his job and I have mine. I'll execute my duties to the best of my ability, not because I must, but because I need to. And so will Dean. Because that's what family does. My wheels are rolling down the road right now, headed for Illinios, keepin' up the skeer.

PS: No matter what my love is feeling, he always smells really good. Like the most scrumptiously, deliciously, sexiest man alive. Just thought you'd want to know that.


End file.
